To Catch a Sherlock
by MudbloodPride
Summary: To catch a Sherlock, just what does one have to do? That's easy. For starters, be friends with an ex assassin, mother of one who happens to be said Sherlock's good friend. Then, manage to befriend a thought-to-be-dead Dominatrix. After that, the rest is pretty much touch and go.


**Author's Note: **Okay so this little bugger wouldn't leave my head until it was out and I think it's going to be an insane multichapter. It's one of those stories that will either be good or REALLY, REALLY BAD - there is no in-between. I'm on a roll these days – writing like a maniac. I'm getting so much done on my Avengers fic too. If any of y'all care to check that out, you know where to look :)

* * *

She put on her sunglasses, a thrill jolting through her as she stepped into the tarmac. Ah, good old England.  
Almost immediately her phone rang.

"Yes?" she said, answering it.

"Welcome back Miss Adler," said Anthea.

"Thank you darling," she cooed, "I won't be here long. I just have some deposits to collect."

"Yes ma'am. If you need anything, you know who to call."

She thanked Anthea and slipped her phone into her pocket. Her contact would take a good three days to meet her. Until then she had absolutely nothing to do. So, thought, smirking as she put her sunglasses on, she might as well visit an old friend.

It was as easy as the first time to slip into 221B Baker Street. Easier, actually, because according to her sources, John Watson didn't live here anymore. Cautiously, she padded into the bedroom before wondering how _exactly_ to surprise Sherlock Holmes. Should she strip and wait on his bed? His blank expression of shock would be highly amusing to witness.

She was contemplating the best course of action when Miss Adler heard something that made her pause and her diamond studded ears prick up.

"_No_, Sherlock. No more Cluedo."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I keep telling you, the murderer is the victim, it's the only logical explanation!" Irene's eyes widened, her curiosity stirring. A woman? In Sherlock's apartment? Oooh, who in the _world_ could it be?

She approached the bedroom door carefully. It was slightly ajar. She squinted, trying to get a better view.  
Who, oh _who_, was this mysterious little lady? Oh! There she was. Irene's lip curled in delight. Oh she was _adorable_. Tiny, cute, with long, brown hair. Oh, she was just her type.

"That is impossible, Sherlock Holmes and you know it. Let's play something else."

"Fine," snapped Sherlock. Irene continued to watch them for a moment longer. They started playing Operation instead. The buzzer went off loudly and the petite brunette let out a triumphant yell. Sherlock huffed and dropped the little tweezers on the table while she grinned as she successfully removed the heart. Over her delighted crowing and Sherlock's sulking, the phone rang.

"Yes what is it, Lestrade? I'm busy," barked Sherlock. "I see. Yes, I'll be there."

"Case?" asked the little woman.

"Yes, I must go. Feel free to stay as long as you want, Molly. Oh, and do make more cake." He added the last bit with a smirk, pulling on his coat.

"I knew you kept me around with ulterior motives in mind," she grumbled, but Irene could tell she wasn't really that mad. "See you tonight at John and Mary's then, Sherlock?"

"Hmm? Yes, of course." Sherlock waved at Molly and raced out, slamming the door shut behind him. Molly chuckled. Irene watched as she flitted back and forth with plates, humming as she cleaned up.

Hmmm.

Irene sat on the bed, thinking hard. Well, since Mr. Holmes had already left, there was no fun in hanging around; he might not be back for ages. This Molly though. She seemed interesting. Irene wanted to meet her. Maybe even take her. She grinned wickedly at the thought. Ooh, she bet Molly was a screamer.

Now, speaking of screamers, what was Sherlock's relationship with her?

_Think, Irene_, she thought to herself. She looked around the bedroom. Nope. Still hopelessly masculine. Not a live-in girlfriend then. But she was comfortable enough to hang around after Junior left. Interesting.

"Right," she muttered to herself, tapping a finger against her chin, "let's ask her why don't we?" With that, she strode out the door.

* * *

Molly put the last dish away, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she brushed against Sherlock latest experiment. Honestly that man-

"Oh, you are just _delectable_," came a voice from behind her. Molly spun around with a little squeak, narrowly missing the experiment again.

"S-sorry?" she asked. The woman laughed.

"Adorable."

"Um," Molly smiled tentatively, "sorry, but, who are you?" The woman's eyes widened.

"Oh my yes, how rude of me. But, hasn't Sherlock told you about me?" Molly shook her head, bemused and tamping down a slight twinge of jealousy. Irene tutted.

"One would think a man would tell his girlfriend about the woman who beat him."

"_Oh_ no, he's not - I'm not his girlfriend," she stammered, blushing furiously. Wait. _The_ _woman who beat him_? That stirred something in Molly's memory.

"Hang on," she frowned. "Irene Adler?" The woman clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh so you _do_ know me!"

"But," Molly gaped, "I thought you were dead."

"My death was... greatly exaggerated," Irene walked over to Sherlock's chair and perched herself on it. "I don't suppose you have any tea, do you?"

* * *

Of all the odd things Molly had done in her life (and she had done quite a few questionable things), this had to be one of the top five: tea with a runaway, thought to be dead, dominatrix.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked, a little scared and frankly a little annoyed at the number of dead people that kept walking off her morgue tables. Irene smiled.

"I came to pay a little visit to Mr. Holmes but as I heard, he won't be coming around for a while now will he?" She leaned back in her chair. "Anyway I'm bored with him now. I'm more interested in you actually."

"Me?" Molly asked, eyes wide. Irene nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yes. Most people don't know this but I prefer the female sex to the male. What about you?" She propped her chin on her fist, batting her eyelashes.

"Um, no, sorry," Molly laughed nervously.

"Mm, pity. I'll bet I could change that though." She gave Molly a devilish look. Suddenly she cocked her head.

"You like him, don't you?"

"Who?" asked Molly, her face heating up again.

"Sherlock, silly child."

"Oh. Um, we're just friends."

"But you want it to be more, yes?" Irene asked earnestly. Molly shifted uncomfortably.

"No Sherlock - Sherlock doesn't feel that way about me. Or about anyone actually."

"Oh phoo," Irene waved her hand airily. "Sherlock is a man like all others. Of course he feels that way."

"Well, not about me," said Molly firmly, eager to drop the subject, "he doesn't notice me." She took a rather loud sip of tea to end the subject. Irene hummed what Molly was sure was_ 'Whatever you say, Dearie'_ and they sat in silence. It was awkward for Molly, but Irene seemed strangely at home. Molly arose to clear away the teacups.

"I say," said Irene suddenly. "Would you like him to notice you? In 'that way' I mean." She made air quotes with her freshly manicured fingers.

"Um, Molly frowned, fighting the urge to look at her own short nails with the pink polish peeling away. "No thank you." Irene blinked in surprise.

"Why ever not?"

"Because I tried once," she said quietly, "it didn't exactly work out." A particularly painful Christmas came into mind as proof. Irene watched her for a moment.

"Well," she said slowly, "maybe you went about it the wrong way." Molly threw her hands up with a laugh.

"What's the _right_ way with Sherlock Holmes? Nothing is ever ordinary with him, the normal rules don't apply. I'm having a conversation with an ex of his for heaven's sake and in his living room!" Irene grinned.

"I knew you were feisty. What I could do to you in bed." Molly blinked.

"You're right though," Irene examined her nails casually. "Normal won't work with Sherlock Holmes. You need to be extraordinary for him." Molly leaned back against the kitchen table.

"And how do you propose I do that?" she asked dryly. At the mischievous twinkle that lit up Miss Adler's eyes, Molly began to wonder is she would seriously regret asking.

* * *

Irene tucked her feet underneath her on the sofa, drumming her long, freshly painted nails on her thigh. Molly Hooper truly was the most _adorable_ little thing. As if to prove her right, she walked out of her bedroom, hair wet and donned in an oversized jumper with spaghetti and meatballs on the front, resembling very much a drowned mouse. Molly paused in the doorway and rubbed her eyes.

"You're still here." Irene chuckled.

"Of course, darling." Molly tugged the ends of her hair.

"Okay, what do you really want?" Irene faked a look of hurt.

"Oh, Molly dear, I want to set you up with Sherlock. Nothing more." Molly frowned.

"Yes, but why? What do you get out of it?"

"I'm doing it because I'm bored." Irene shrugged. "And I like you, Molly Hooper. No wonder Sherlock fell for you." As Irene predicted, Molly went beet red at that.

"Oh _no_ \- Sherlock doesn't- Sherlock isn't like that," she said defensively. Irene rolled her eyes.

"Of course he is, Molly. Now, I'm going to help you catch him. It would be great fun for me to see him being reeled in."

"I am definitely going to regret this," Molly mumbled to herself before asking, "okay, how are you going to do it?"

"That's the spirit!" said Irene cheerfully. She beckoned Molly to sit with her and spread a sheet of paper on the sofa next to her. Carefully she wrote 'How to catch a Sherlock' in bold and a set of numbers for bullet points.

"Now, let's begin..."

* * *

**HOW TO CATCH A SHERLOCK**

_1) Find a third accomplice_.

"Why do we need a third accomplice?" asked Molly, frowning.

"Because Mr. Holmes won't be very happy with _me_ coming around trying to deduct things about his taste in women."

"Aren't you going to tell him you're here?" asked Molly, crossing her arms. Irene smiled her wicked smile.

"Not just yet. So, is there anyone you know who fits the bill of female, a close mutual friend and also relentless?" Molly thought for a second before her eyes lit up.

"I can think of one."

The phone rang loudly and she almost jumped out of her skin. Soothing Elizabeth who was just nodding off, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mary?"

"Oh hi Molly, what's up?" Molly let out a rather hysterical sounding giggle.

"Mary could we come over for a bit? We sort of need your help..."

"Oh sure love, come on over. John's gone off with Sherlock and I'm terribly bored."

"Oh good." There was that hysterical giggle again. In the background someone else laughed too.

"We'll be over as soon as we can," said Molly.

"Oh, alright then. Who are you bringing along?"

Mary almost dropped the wine she set out when Molly Hooper walked in with Irene Adler in tow.

* * *

_2) Find out what a Sherlock likes._

"So let me get this straight," said Mary as Molly frowned and rubbed her temples, "you want to set Molly up with Sherlock."

"I told her it wouldn't work," said Molly plaintively as she sloppily poured herself another glass of wine.

"Shush darling, of course it will work." Irene straightened from where she had been cooing over Elizabeth's sleeping form.

"I agree," said Mary cheerfully. "Alright, let's do it."

"What really?" Molly blinked rapidly.

"Of course," grinned Mary, "I've been trying to set you two up for ages. So, what's the plan?"

Irene pulled out her Piece of Paper (yes, with capital P's) authoritatively.

"Obviously Sherlock is as thick as a brick when it comes to romance, but even I can see he's completely smitten with this one," she nodded to Molly who was growing cross-eyed trying to wipe wine off her nose. "And I only saw then together for five minutes."

Mary nodded in agreement. It was true. Molly and Sherlock were always dancing a hopeless little dance in circles around each other. It was especially true since the whole Moriarty flare had spread across the country. Sherlock wouldn't go a day without contacting Molly on some way to make sure she was safe.

Irene sank into the chair next the Mary, shooting a glance at the petite brunette.

"Molly is already the ideal woman for Sherlock," said Irene, lowering her voice. "But Sherlock needs to see it. And so does she."

"And how do you propose we do that?" whispered Mary. Irene spread her Paper (with a capital P, of course) across Mary's knees.

"You need to find out what Sherlock likes in a woman. Or a person in general." Molly giggled tipsily.

"Yeah, good luck with that." Mary's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

"He's coming over for dinner tonight." Irene grinned her wicked grin.

"Well then, ladies, let's get to work."

* * *

Mary Watson, ex assassin extraordinaire had some plans of her own in order to find out exactly what a Sherlock likes. Like anything relating to the consulting detective, research had to be carried out in a delicate manner with a very, very light touch.

So naturally she was got him drunk.

"Want some more, Sherlock?" she asked cheerfully.

"Really Mary, your attemptsh to get me drunk are of no - no avail," Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Why did everything just double?"  
Mary grinned.

Molly had left a little while back, declining any more wine after dinner because she was fairly sure she'd be nursing a migraine of remarkable proportions the next morning anyway. John was putting the baby back to bed so Mary figured it would be the best time to figure out a couple of things about Mr. Holmes, the younger.

"So, Sherlock," she said casually. "Molly looked quite lovely today, didn't she?" Under threat of destruction of her cherry jumper, Molly had worn a delightful little blouse that Irene had bought for her. It had suited her very, very well and Mary was sure that Sherlock's eyes had strayed to her more than once throughout the course of the meal.

"Mm, yesh, and she also looked more than slightly drunk. Where's Elishabeth?" he suddenly demanded, looking around hazily.

"John's putting her to bed."

"But I didn't kiss her goodnight," he twisted around in his seat a little mournfully.

"Hm, yes, you did, several times in fact," said Mary biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. Sherlock looked very confused.

"I did? Huh. Sometimes I can't keep up with myshelf."

"So, as I was saying," said Mary, pouring more wine into Sherlock's glass, "Molly looked very pretty tonight."

"Hm, yes I suppose so." Sherlock took another hearty sip of wine.

"She's such a lovely person, Molly," said Mary fondly. "I have no idea how she puts up with you."

"Hey!" said Sherlock indignantly. "Theresh nothing wrong with me! I'll have you know I'm very nice to Mally - I mean, Molly."

"No Sherlock, she is a saint and you know it," said Mary waving her wineglass rather threateningly in his face. Sherlock shrank back, hoping it wouldn't hit him on the nose. His nose was abused far too much.

"Think if how many nice qualities Molly possesses," she continued. "If you think about it, she's got a little bit of everyone in her. She's loyal like John, she's quirky like Mrs. Hudson, she brings you body parts and keeps you entertained like Greg, she's sexy – "

Sherlock gave a rather ungainly snort.

"Mary, Molly is a lovely woman, but I assure you, she is not the normal idea of _sexy_. Not to me anyway."

"I thought smart was the new sexy!" said Mary, hitting him on the arm. He groaned theatrically and Mary rolled her eyes. The big baby.

"My point is," began Sherlock, before pausing to hiccough, "my point is, I know what you're up to Mary Watson. You want to - you want to shag us up! I mean, to set us up! Yes, set."

"Noo," said Mary, her eyes widening innocently, "why ever would you think that? I'm just pointing out how Molly is probably worth more than all of us put together."

"Really? Sherlock said disbelievingly. Sniffing haughtily he rose, stumbling a little. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Really? You will?" asked Mary innocently. "So if we - _I_ \- prove to you that Molly is totally worth more than all of us put together you'll believe it?"

"Mmhm." He twisted his scarf into a coil before frowning. "No, that's not how you do it."

"So, you're saying," said Mary, brushing imaginary lint off her pants as Sherlock tried again and again to knot his scarf properly, "if I prove that Molly Hooper has a little bit of everything you like in all of your friends, you'll ask her out?"

"Yes- what? No, no, no, no, no, no, nooo," Sherlock flapped his arms at her, looking like a harried mother hen.

"You said yes! It's what you said!" said Mary, pointing at him gleefully.

"No it isn't," said Sherlock loudly and Mary almost laughed out loud at his pink cheeks.

"Yes you di-id," she sang and dangled her phone in front of him, "and I recorded i-it! You want to shag Molly Hoo-ooper!"

"Give me that," he said swinging an arm in her direction. Mary ducked and backed away.

"Watch it, Holmes," she threatened. "I shot you once, I can do it again." Sherlock paled slightly before huffing. Giving up his scarf as a bad job, he simply flung one end over his shoulder and marched out. Mary giggled as muttered curses echoed through the hall on his way out.

The bait had been thrown. Holmes was ready to bite. Then, her phone chimed with a new message.

_Forr youR Infolmatin I do NOT want to shagg MoLly HoPper - SH_

Mary burst into a fit of giggles that had her husband poking his head out of the nursery to wonder why.

"Got you, Sherlock," she wheezed, tears swimming in her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, yes I KNOW, it's so highly improbable. But yeesh. Can you imagine? I mean, Sherlock's a genius, but the combined forces of Irene Adler, Mary Watson and (a reluctant, but meh, who cares?) Molly Hooper? Mr. Holmes, you're in a loooot of trouble.

I hope you like this silly little thing, and if you did, leave a review to let me know :) Next chapter will (hopefully) be up soon.

Thanks so much for reading!

Until next time!

Much love,

xo


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